


Into The Black

by Kyerie



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M, Gen, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-03-31 05:00:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13967820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyerie/pseuds/Kyerie
Summary: It's time for the Jedi to end.





	1. Sand

**Author's Note:**

> I have not finished this story yet. In fact, I've written only two chapters so far. I expect it will not be very fast to update. 
> 
> Typically, I have at least ten chapters written before I post a story. With this one, I do not. I only have the detailed outline and the first two chapters written, but I'm excited to share it and go on the journey of writing with people this time. 
> 
> I realize I tend to only post one story per fandom before I move on. I'm just that sort of person. But I never start a story I don't think I can finish, so if you want to stick around, this will eventually get finished.
> 
> I don't write smut, so if you're looking for that, sorry. I actually let my kids read my writing if they want so there's not going to be any smut. At best, it will be implied and off-screen, as it were.

His nose was itchy.

In his fifteen years of life, he had observed it was only when he could not otherwise reach his nose that it became itchy. Such as at this moment, with his hands bound behind his back.

“Kin?”

“Yeah, kid?” rumbled a deep voice out of the darkness.

He scrunched up his nose and wriggled his lips side to side in irritation. “My nose is itchy.”

“You’re shit outta luck with that, Ben.” The man huffed a soft chuckle. “I’m not scratching it for you.”

Silence descended between them again, as it had lain over them for the many long hours – or what he suspected were hours – they had been in this dark, sandy place.  He could hear the soft swishing of sand blowing against the outside of the beige stone walls. Ben rolled sideways slightly and was able to crane his neck to gently rub his nose along the rough stone. He sighed softly in relief as the itch was calmed.

As he felt the soft puff of air leave from between his parched lips, his mind was drawn to their utter lack of water. It wasn’t as if they had been able to grab any provisions before being unceremoniously grabbed during an eruption of blaster fire.

Ben didn’t recall much of what had happened between then and waking in this dark, dry room with his hands tied by some sort of rope that felt uncomfortably sticky, and his feet equally immobilized.

He had been so happy to join Kintaro and his father on the trip to pick up a new shipment of scavenged droids.

 

* * *

 

 

_“Safe as safe gets,” Han had assured his mother, Leia. “No funny business. We’re dealing with a local merchant and then straight up New Republic. It’s all legit.”_

_“Is anything you ever do legitimate?” Leia had asked, a sceptical half-smile about her lips. She never had been able to say no to the smuggler she loved; the man who never seemed able to stay quite on the straight and narrow._

_He’d adopted that roguish grin of his and winked at her. “This is as close as it gets, sweetheart. Let me show him the ‘rim, he’s never been.”_

_It hadn’t taken long for her to give in, and Ben had been granted a week’s leave from his academic program to accompany his father on his first week-long business trip._

_He’d ridden in the Falcon hundreds of times before, every time Han stopped by to see him in between smuggling runs. The ship’s many hidden compartments had been the sites of his childhood imaginings. Atop his father’s knee, he’d learned to pilot the freighter, first with the jerky movements of an awkward lad, but by the time he was ten, Ben could put the heavily modified ship through its paces. A natural, his father had cheered the first time Ben’s piloting won them a bet._

_On this trip, he’d not been piloting. Chewie and Han helmed the ship. But for the first time, Ben was racked in the crew bunks. When he had slept on the Falcon in the past, Ben had always bunked down for the night on the folded-down galley bench of the ship, tucked up with blankets and pillows on the makeshift bed. The bunks, his father told him, were for crew only, and someday he’d earn the right to sleep there. When this time around Han had told him to drop his satchel in the crew quarters, Ben had sprinted with delight to the small rooms, glad to finally be more than just a tagalong._

_Kin threw his green canvas satchel onto the upper bunk of the small room, above Ben’s._

_“Ready for your first trip, kid?” he asked, his full lips twisted in a playful smirk. “Won’t get us into any trouble, right?”_

_Ben couldn’t contain the wide grin that spread across his features in answer to the question. “That’s your job,” he laughed._

_Kintaro Solo stood head and shoulders above his younger brother. At nineteen – nearly twenty, he liked to remind his father – he towered over Han as well. He was tall and lean, lithe and quick. There was nothing about the stockier, muscular build of his father in him. The long strands of his silky, black hair were tied back away from his face with a strip of brown leather. Kin’s colouring favoured his mother; a Kano from Chandrila. His expressive, dark brown eyes were almond shaped and always crinkled with mirth. His hair as black as the expanse of space. There was nothing about the two sons of Han Solo that hinted at the fact that they were brothers. Ben, built wide and solid like his father, had greedy curls that he chose to keep shorn close to his head. His plain brown eyes and easily-tanned and freckled skin was nothing like the glowing whiteness of his brother._

_Kin’s loose shirt fell open at the neck where the top of a tattoo peeked over the edge of the rough-woven fabric. The red ink climbed to his shoulder and up the side of his neck, curling around the shell of his ear. He looked like a pirate, in Ben’s opinion. Which, he supposed, was accurate, given his chosen profession._

_While Kintaro looked nothing like his father, his personality left no doubt as to his parentage. His mother, Kaede, had largely allowed Han to raise their son after she surprised him with his existence when the boy was eight. Ben couldn’t remember a time when visits with his father didn’t include his happy, playful, and mischievous brother as well. Leia had never quite approved of the influence of the older boy on her son, but she could not deny the brothers their time together. Despite the five year age difference, Ben and Kin had always been very close._

_Ben swatted his brother’s hand away as he affectionately ruffled his hair, and set out for the cockpit to get Han’s instructions for the trip to the Western Reaches._

 

* * *

 

 

It had taken them only a couple of days to reach the desert planet.

From there, it had taken Han approximately two hours to anger a group of local trade bosses to the point of exchanging shots of the non-stun variety, landing the Solo boys in some sort of cell and their father nowhere to be seen.

Kintaro was humming something inane – Ben never did quite understand his taste in music – while Ben’s mind was turning again to the distinct lack of water. He licked his dry lips with a sticky tongue and sighed. It felt like his mouth had even given up on spit. This day was going considerably more poorly than he thought it would.

Ben had assumed the trip would involve more excitement and less sand.

And food.

Just as he was trying to determine precisely how long it had been since breakfast, a heavy door opened with a swish along the floor. Light slipped through and momentarily blinded Ben. He blinked his aching eyes rapidly, trying to see who was coming in.

“Why are you holding us?” growled Kintaro. “We’re not worth anything to you!”

The hulking Crolute who entered had his back to them, pushing the door open with his shoulder. He ignored the question, focusing instead on something outside. He shouted a wordless exclamation and shoved the door open.

With a deceptively rapid twist of his huge frame, he wordlessly threw a writhing, flailing bundle into the room, darting back out and slamming the door behind him. Just as the last of the light vanished from the gap of the door, Ben saw the small person who had been unceremoniously thrown into the room leap up with a cry.

“Hey,” Ben called softly. The child – was it a child? – didn’t respond.

A moment later, he heard the sound of small fists banging on the heavy metal door. “Come back,” the tiny voice screamed. “Come baaaaaack.” The voice was full of desperation. Between sobs, the small person slammed again and again on the door, screaming for their gaoler to return.

Ben tried again, louder. “Hey, kid!” It didn’t work any better the second time. The screaming and pounding continued.

“Shut up,” Kin hissed. “You’re giving me a headache.”

The banging ceased for a moment while heavy, choking sobs punctuated the dark.

“Come untie us,” Ben tried. “Come help us.”

The child sniffed wetly from somewhere near the door.

A moment later, the pounding began again. Kintaro groaned loudly.

It continued for what felt like an eternity. Ben’s head pounded from dehydration. His eyes ached in the dark. And every few minutes, CLANG CLANG CLANG, followed by several minutes of heaving sobs.

Eventually, the banging became softer. The sobs quieter. Ben heard some shifting around in the room; feet padding on the dry floor. Then silence. Ben thanked all that was good in the universe for the reprieve. From the steady, deep breaths to his left, he could tell Kin had somehow fallen asleep himself.

Several minutes later, the door opened slowly. A rough-looking man entered; filthy and dressed in torn wraps of fabric. He stood in the doorway a moment, taking in the room. Ben glanced over, seeing in the light of the opened door that his brother was indeed asleep. Near his feet, a child was curled up; her knees tucked up towards her chest under the dirty, ragged simple robe she wore. Her hair stuck out in every direction, half-covering her smudged face, half tied back in an untidy queue.  

With a few quick steps, the man reached the child. Kintaro jumped awake, having heard the man enter. As Kin shook himself to wakefullness, the man reached down and grabbed the child’s messy hair.

The scream was ear-piercing as the child, jolted awake, was lifted roughly to her feet by her hair.

The man flinched. Ben and Kin both jumped. “Hey!” they cried in unison, unable to move to help.

There was no need.

The child continued shrieking. Stepping back involuntarily, the man released the child’s queue of hair, not that it did any good. Her scream continued, loud and long.

Then Ben noticed the door shuddering. Heavy, two-finger thick durasteel was beginning to waver on its hinges. It squealed in protest.

Ben felt a surging in the middle of his chest, as if his breath was caught. Every hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

He knew this feeling. It was his birthright.

His eyes fixed on the child. Her eyes were closed, her head bent down. In between deep breaths, she screamed high and long and loud. From the periphery of his vision, he saw the man backing away, wide-eyed.

Ben felt like he was being slammed by a tidal wave. He could not look away.

With a deafening screech, the door pulled off its hinges. In the space of a moment, it slammed into the ragged man. The man’s body caused very little resistance as the door was thrown through a stone wall.

“Holy shit,” moaned Kintaro. Ben barely heard him, so fixed was his attention on the child.

She was heaving with effort, silent for a moment aside from the gasping breaths. Her eyes were cast down, and her shoulders shook.

Ben tried to reach for that quiet place in himself that his mother had talked about. He’d seen this done before and he was hoping he could manage it.

He closed his eyes, and focused on seeing the child another way.

_There._

He saw her; truly saw her. Then he reached out and pictured wrapping her in silence.

With a gentle _thud,_ she dropped senselessly to the floor.

Kin’s eyes snapped over to him. “Did you do that?”

Ben nodded. “Saw Uncle Luke do it to dad once.”

“You need to tell me that story sometime,” Kintaro laughed, His eyes were scanning the ground. It was littered with debris from the door and stone. It didn’t take him long to find a jagged piece of metal, possibly one of the hinges. He deftly kicked it towards himself, twisting to pick it up with his tied hands. “Less than a minute, I bet.”

“You’re on. No way you’ll manage that.” Ben grinned at him, tired but giddy.

It did indeed take Kintaro less than a minute – Ben was counting – to free his hands. He made quick work of his feet and Ben’s bindings as well. They rose together and shook out their hands and stamped their feet, helping circulation return fully. Ben felt as if it would take a week for his hands to stop tingling.

Kin inclined his head towards the door. “Let’s get out of here.” Ben nodded in agreement. He hesitated at the doorway, looking back at the child. Kintaro pushed past him, sensing his hesitancy. “Let me.”

As if she weighed nothing, he lifted the girl into his arms. Close up, she looked impossibly small and incredibly dirty to Ben. He wrinkled his nose in distaste as the scent of unwashed clothing reached him.

They left the shack together, child in arms. The commotion in the hut had attracted some onlookers, but none approached the ragged party as they paused a moment outside the door.

“Dad!” Ben shouted, seeing his father through the crowd. Chewie’s unmistakable growl of greeting carried over the assembly.

“Ben!” Han Solo shouted, agonized relief on his face. He broke into a run just as the heavy Crolute from earlier lumbered around a nearby building. He was joined by two shoddily dressed, helmeted human men. One trained a blaster on Han, the other in the direction of the boys.

“Solo,” growled the Crolute. The people assembled nearby shifted uneasily at the sight of blasters and the crowd began to thin. “You owe me.”

“You kidnapped my kids, Plutt! We’re even,” Han returned, his voice loud but steady.

The Crolute laughed mirthlessly and gestured at the boys. “They are unharmed, as you – “ he cut himself off and his beady eyes widened, seeing the child. “That is MINE!” He jerked forward, his immense body moving quicker than Ben would have assumed possible.

“RUN!” yelled Han.

Ben decided to take his father’s advice, and quickly. Not fifty paces later and Chewie grabbed his arm to pull him behind a mud-hut. Han was behind another, returning blaster fire. Only then did he turned to look for his brother.

Slowed by the child in his arms, Kin had fallen behind. Ben watched each step the young man took as debris flew into the air each time a bolt of light hit the ground or surrounding structures.

Kintaro met Ben’s eyes, a look of relief coming over him as he reached the edge of the structure behind which Ben and Chewie were taking cover.

Then his eyes went wide and in a moment, he crumpled to the ground, the child beneath him.

“KINTARO!” Han screamed from his position twenty paces away. Chewie howled. Ben stood frozen as the world slowed around him.

He felt the Wookiee grab his shoulder and urge him to move, but he couldn’t take his eyes from the still form of his brother.

The scene became smaller, fading into the distance and it was only distantly, as if he were watching the scene from above, that Ben realized that Chewbacca was carrying him like a small child.

He saw Plutt gracelessly push Kintaro’s body aside with his large foot, grabbing the insensate child from where she had been trapped beneath her erstwhile rescuer.

He saw no more as Chewie deposited him roughly on the ramp of the Falcon.

Ben sat immobile and listened to the hum of the hyperdrive engage. As the universe turned to streaks of blue around them, the still air of the Falcon was shattered by the wrenching wail of Han Solo howling his grief into the uncaring black of space.


	2. Chandrila

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peaceful interlude for our new Supreme Leader

The last wisps of the memory-turned-nightmare evaporate like smoke in the wind as wakefulness rises in him. There is bright sunslight on his eyelids, so he rolls to his side before attempting to open his eyes.

Much like the mornings on Chandrila he remembers from his youth, the air in his room is crisp, heavy with fresh dew. The hum and rumble of the residence’s droid staff is distant, but the disproportionately heavy stomp of feet running down the hallway towards his chambers alerts him only a moment before the door bursts open.

Before he can sit up, the breath is knocked out of him by a blow to his chest.

He acts on instinct, pushing the being away with a burst of Force, and rises to sit.

The giggling Twi’lek child screams “do it again!”

“Get out, Jeru,” he growls at the boy, his words muffled by his lack of full alertness. It had been a while since he had slept so deeply as he had here.

The boy shakes his head, grinning. Despite having a human father, Jeru looked fully Twi’lek, with the exception of his slightly shorter than average head tails, known as lekku. His pale, sky-blue skin flushed darker with excitement in his cheeks as he bounds up and down on the balls of his feet. “Dad said you’re going running. I wanted to come so I came running to see you!”

The man makes an incoherent sound of annoyance and cards a hand through his long hair. “Just go, I have to get dressed.” The boy runs out of the room, giggling, slamming the door loudly behind him.

Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the First Order, rises from his bed and walks slowly to the refresher, blinking the fuzziness of the morning from his eyes. He complete his morning ablutions in a perfunctory manner and trades his soft sleeping trousers for the black training garments he had brought with him. Much as he had not enjoyed the rude awakening, his quick glance at the clock revealed that he was nearly late to his agreed-upon morning meeting.

The corridors of Eastmire, the estate where he had slept, were silent this morning, and Kylo Ren encountered no one on his trek to the dining room, which the absurdly ambitious architect of the residence had had the blasted idiotic idea of placing on the exact opposite side of the house as the guest quarters. He had always hated Eastmire, but the opportunity to stay at the secluded, and extremely well-defended, estate had prevented the many headaches that would have been the result of his official presence on the planet.

He glances out the large gallery window, and observes the enormous, wing-shaped ship visible in orbit even during the morning hours. It is surrounded by the orbiting repair station which will soon return the massive Supremacy to fighting condition. He is ostensibly on Chandrila to supervise the final steps of the repairs. He is also on Chandrila to have a break from the tediousness of Armitage Hux and his barely-concealed _plotting_.  

The owner of the estate, Kano Ren, is one of his Knights. The Knights of Ren are an apolitical group, and they have stayed out of the war in its entirety. The five remaining Knights, Jeru Ren having been killed by Snoke after a particularly poorly attempted assassination several years ago, scattered to the corners of the galaxy, pursuing their own ends while Kylo remained with the First Order to apprentice to Snoke.  

His thoughts turn somewhat maudlin as he treks down the corridors. He spots a portrait of two young boys on the wall, and recognizes his younger self.  

Kano Ren – born Jake Kano, originally of Chandrila, a scion of one of the largest political dynasties on the planet – was only a few months younger than Kylo. They had been friends since the age of ten, when Kylo had been shipped off to Hosnia Prime to attend the New Republic Academy. The image from which the portrait was painted had been taken sometime during one of their holidays here at the Kano residence on Chandrila, during their earlier years at the Academy. Before Jake’s mother died.

The Academy had been a collection of the pampered and spoiled children of galactic politicians. Kylo sneers, remembering how pleased the Headmaster had been to _acquire_ the only son of the New Republic’s crown jewel, Leia Organa, as his new student. The simpering man had assured Leia that the Academy would mold her young son’s talents into a bright and successful future. Jake Kano had had the room next to him, and the boys had become fast friends.

In the image, two scraggly children, on the cusp of adolescence, have their arms casually thrown around each other’s shoulders in the bright light of a Chandrilan summer. Their wide grins are carefree and innocent, with no hint of the tragedy they would all too soon experience. Kylo Ren cannot recall the feeling they shared that day, or why it was he and his friend had been so happy. He cannot bring to mind what it was to have a mind untouched by the darkness that has surrounded half of his life.

It does not take him long to reach the dining room after the minutes he has spent ruminating on the old portrait and the lost innocence of youth.

Kano is walking past the doorway as he enters, nearly colliding with Kylo as he passes. Slightly taller than Kylo at nearly two metres in height, he lacks the muscular bulk of his long-time friend. Like most of the old Chandrilan families, he is all angles and long limbs, his strength hidden in the lean lines of his frame. He is dressed in similar training clothes to Kylo’s. A wide grin breaks the man’s face in two. “Ben!” he exclaims happily, grasping the Supreme Leader’s right hand in a tight grasp, and pulls him into a one-armed hug which Kylo returns. “Good to see you, brother. You got in alright last night?”

Kylo responds with a reserved smile, clapping his friend on the back. Twenty years of friendship had permitted Jake the privilege to continue calling him by his birth name without _much_ argument. “Well enough. It’s hard to miss this awful pile of rock even in the dark.” Jake laughs. He always had been the happier of the two men, and nothing they had survived through the years had managed to snuff that out.

“Hard to miss your new digs too,” Jake said with a pointed glance at the window through which the Supremacy was clearly visible in the blue sky. “You really want to live on that monstrosity?”

Kylo shrugs. “It’s expected.” Before Jake opens his mouth to respond, he changes the subject. “Are we going running or not?”

“Sure. Breakfast first?” A quelling look from Kylo reminds him that he’s never been one to eat before morning training, despite two decades of nagging from his friend who never saw a meal he didn’t like. “Okay, then.”

They leave through a servant’s passageway which leads onto the grounds. The passageways have long been unused as the property no longer has any humanoid staff aside from Jeru’s nanny.

Eastmire’s grounds are expansive. Encompassing most of a land projection that juts into the silver sea, the residence is surrounded on two sides by thick forest, and the other two by steep cliffs. They choose to run through the forest today, on a well-beaten trail shadowed by tall, wide-leafed trees.

They fall into step beside one another, a practiced rhythm. Their shod feet hit the path with soft slaps, sending small animals scampering in the brush to the sides of the trail. Sunslight filters through the towering trees above, freckling their skin with shadows and green.

Kylo takes in deep lungfuls of the damp morning air. Chandrila is always temperate, always a pleasant and moderately-tempered planet. Even closer to the poles, it is rarely too cold for comfortable habitation. Like the politically-minded people who populate it, Chandrila is a meek sort of place, not given to extremes, with a little bit of something for everyone. It is the embodiment of the concept of compromise in planet form.

Born on Chandrila, he had lived on the Organa Estate in Hanna City, the capital, until his mother had sent him to Hosnia Prime for schooling. Though they were only months apart in age, were raised on the same planet, and ran in many of the same social circles because of their parents, it was only at the Academy that the young then-Ben Solo and Jake Kano had met and formed the bond that would see them through the tumultuous years to come and cement the lifelong loyalty between them.

“I hear you're less of an asshole lately,” Jake says between breaths. He’s not quite breathing hard yet; they’re barely jogging at this point. Kylo’s frustration rises quickly. It has been a while since he has seen this man; his frankness is at odds with the simpering, fearful obedience and grudging respect of the First Order officers he is usually surrounded with. He growls low in his throat. “Whoa boy, back off Ben. I’m just saying, you seem,” he pauses in thought. “You seem less conflicted since Snoke’s been gone. As far as I can tell."

“Because I finally get to be alone in my own head,” he responds. “Helps clear things up.”

“You should’ve taken out the old man years ago.”

“It wasn’t for lack of trying,” Kylo huffs, annoyed. 

Jake laughs freely. “What did it this time?” Kylo had not hidden from his friend that Snoke’s end came at his own hand. In a manner of speaking.

“Had help,” he responds simply. Kano stops running at that. A few steps later, Kylo stops as well. “What?”

“Who the hell helped _you_? There’s no way some trooper would manage it, and Hux was halfway up Snoke’s rectum most of the time to hear tell. No way that creep raised a finger to help.”

Kylo smirks. “I found a Jedi with a saviour complex.” Jake barks out another laugh.

“Don’t they all have one? Where’d you dig up a Jedi these days?”

 “Are we going to run or gossip like old women, Jake?”

 Jake nodded to the trail ahead. “Fine, but you’re telling me this story later.”

Kylo admires the scenery. Aside from brief excursions planetside, he’d been in space for most of the last two years. The interiors of ships, no matter their size, always felt too small, too sterile for him. He had spent most of his life surrounded by living things. When in space, he always felt like the background hum of the Force was a note off, just the smallest bit disharmonious, like a familiar song played in the wrong key. Spending some time here, among the lush greenery of a familiar planet, he feels restored in a way that meditation and sleep alone had not been able to manage. He feels balance here; the energy of life and death around and beneath him.

He can feel the steady hum of his friend’s presence at his side, Jake’s Force strong and steady as his own. Nourished by things that the Jedi forbid. Family, partnership, love, and passion.

It was Jake’s refusal to cast aside his attachments that had felled the Jedi order.

It was Kylo’s loyalty to Jake that had paved the way for Snoke to find a lonely, scared boy, and turn him into a weapon.

He breathes in the first peace he’s felt in a long time, and glances up at the Supremacy, hanging in the sky like some obscenely shaped moon. He’s not keen to return, but there are expectations of him. The Order has tasks to complete. There are several systems still to bring into line, and there’s no way he can leave Hux to his own devices for long. He'll either die of neglect or try to take over. Like a weed. 

Kylo Ren feels the pressure of his responsibilities, and mechanically plans the day ahead as his feet continue to match pace with Jake.

They end the run nearly two hours later, having gradually increased the pace until both are sweating under the light of the risen dual suns. The morning dew had burned off, leaving the morning bright and crisp.

On the front lawns of the house, they pause to cool down. Jake assumes a practice form, feet spaced widely and knees bent, facing forward. Kylo looks at him steadily, weighing his options before joining him. It has been many years, but his muscles remember. Mostly. 

“You still do this?”

“Yeah, every morning.” Jake breathes in deeply through his nose and slowly out through his mouth, swinging his right leg around and shifting his weight along with it. “Helps me keep my head, anyway. Even the Jedi had a few good ideas.”

Kylo frowns. He doesn’t disagree on principle, but the forms remind him too much of better days. Very short better days. “Are you teaching Jeru?”

“Soon,” he says. “Kid’s strong in the Force, he’ll need training. At least there’s no Jedi order swooping in to kidnap Force-sensitive kids from their parents anymore.”

The Supreme Leader nods, his expression turning grim at the reminder. He jerkily shifting forms again, some of his fluidity lost in years of lack of practice. He stumbles, then repeats his movement beside Jake, breathing deeply. The subject of discussion himself runs out of the house, bounding down the lawns. Without breaking his form, Jake pulls the boy into a side hug.

“Planning to tell Uncle Ben what you’re going to do this afternoon?”

Kylo glares at his friend. “No. No ‘Uncle’ anything.”

“Uncle Ben!” the boy cries, hugging him around the middle as he erupts into giggles. “I like it! I’m going flying today!”

Kylo awkwardly pats the child on the head. “Flying what?” Flying had been a hobby since childhood; he’d indulge the kid’s interest.

“Corellian Freighter,” Jake responds.

“Not funny,” Kylo grumbles in response.

“It’s a training sim,” Jake responds. “No real flight.”

“But it’s _just like_ real flying,” Jeru insists. “It’s at the flight school in Hanna City!” His overly loud, enthusiastic chatter seems to punctuate every sentence with extra excitement. 

Concentration broken, Kylo stands straight, unable to focus on the forms. Jake beckons the lad closer. “How about you tell Uncle Ben – “

“Shut up, Jake.”

“ _Uncle_ Ben,” he reiterates with a grin, “all about your flight lessons over lunch.”

The boy grabs Kylo’s hand, the trusting gesture of a child who has no idea the horrors of the galaxy around him. A child who has grown up in a home with parent who cherish and protect him. He is a boy who knows nothing of what Kylo Ren is, what he has done, and what he plans to do.

Until today, Kylo Ren had not seen the child since he was a newborn, when Jake Kano and his wife Misona Ati went into hiding along with the other Knights, away from Luke, away from Snoke. Away from any alliance to any Order.

The child’s hand is tiny in his own, reminding him of a similar moment of trust and inquisitiveness he recently experienced. The boy chatters inanely as he leads him into the house, Jake following several steps behind.

Kylo observes the young boy in his peripheral vision. The child looks nothing like Jake, but his personality is so like the boy that his father once was. His happy chatter, and awed explanations of how he feels when flying, take Ben back to those first days at the Academy, as he and Jake bonded over their shared love of piloting. Ben feels a fierce protectiveness for this small being who has no idea how his existence changed the course of history.

Jeru Kano has no idea that his small life ended a tradition that had survived a thousand generations. If the Knights of Ren have their way, he never will.

 


End file.
